Folie à Deux
by whitchry9
Summary: Folie à Deux: a madness shared by two. Three parts, all posted on the same day.
1. Chapter 1

Lestrade cleared his throat before he spoke. "There is no Sherlock Holmes. There never has been."

John froze. "What are you talking about?"

"Look him up. He never existed. There is no man by the name of Sherlock Holmes, ever, anywhere."

John frowned, and turned to face Sherlock, who had remained in the corner.

"Sherlock, you'd better explain, because I am not getting this."

Sherlock only looked back blankly. Clearly he was no more informed than John was.

Lestrade was looking at him sadly. "There is no one there John. You invented him."

"Invented him?"

"Mmm hmm. Invented all those crimes, those cases, racing around the city, shooting a bloody gun in a _school._ You have no idea how much work that was for me."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" John scoffed.

Lestrade sighed. "Can you honestly tell me you are absolutely sure that man exists?" he asked, gesturing in the general direction of Sherlock.

"Look, for god's sake, this man is famous, he's solved loads of cases, been in all the newspapers!"

Lestrade shook his head. "No John. He wasn't. That painting he supposedly found, the Falls of the Reichenbach, it never existed."

John looked at Sherlock, who only shook his head angrily before walking out.

"But... then who are you? What about Mrs Hudson? Surely she knew that I had a flatmate," John noted smugly.

Lestrade looked up at him. "I'm your therapist," he said slowly, as if John was an idiot. "But you seem convinced I was a Detective Inspector. I went along with it, because I hoped it would allow me to get closer to you, but it really didn't help." He shook his head. "And as for Mrs Hudson, she's a nurse. She makes sure you're safe at home."

"Stop it. Stop it now!" John shouted. He glared at Lestrade.

"I'd like to go home now," he snapped.

Lestrade nodded at the woman who had no name.

She accompanied him in the car.


	2. Chapter 2

Lestrade cleared his throat before he spoke."There is no John Watson. There never has been."

Sherlock froze. "What are you talking about?"

"Look him up. There are a dozen John Watsons, but none are the one you know. What is he, a war hero with a psychosomatic limp? He never existed."

Sherlock frowned, and turned to face John, who had remained in the corner.

"John, you'd better explain, because I am not getting this."

John only looked back blankly. Clearly he was no more informed than Sherlock was.

Lestrade was looking at him sadly. "There is no one there Sherlock. You invented him."

"Invented him?"

"Mmm hmm. Invented the flatmate who came to stay with you, the one who supposedly shot the cabbie you were matching wits with, honestly, that was a pain."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" Sherlock scoffed.

Lestrade sighed. "Can you honestly tell me you are absolutely sure that man exists?" he asked, gesturing in the general direction of John.

"Look, for god's sake, this man was a war hero!"

Lestrade shook his head. "No Sherlock. He wasn't. The unit he was supposedly in, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, they didn't exist."

Sherlock looked at John, who only shook his head angrily before walking out.

"But... then who are you? What about Mrs Hudson? Surely she knew that I had a flatmate," Sherlock noted smugly.

Lestrade looked up at him. "I'm your therapist," he said slowly, as if Sherlock was an idiot. "But you seem convinced I was a Detective Inspector. I went along with it, because I hoped it would allow me to get closer to you, but it really didn't help." He shook his head. "And as for Mrs Hudson, she's a nurse. She makes sure you're safe at home."

"Stop it. Stop it now!" Sherlock shouted. He glared at Lestrade.

"I'd like to go home now," he snapped.

Lestrade nodded at the woman who had no name.

She accompanied him in the car.


	3. Chapter 3

They arrived home at the same time.

Mrs Hudson was at the door to greet them.

"Hello Mrs Hudson," John said.

Sherlock nodded to her.

She beamed at them. "Hello boys," she replied, her eyes flickering back and forth between them. But never looking _at _them.

* * *

They climbed up the stairs silently, and stood in the living room.

"I've had an awful day," John admitted.

"Me too," Sherlock sighed.

"Pretty sure mine was worse," John muttered.

"I doubt that," Sherlock replied. "You go first."

John sighed heavily, as though the very act of telling may exhaust him. "Lestrade told me that you aren't real. That I invented you, and that he's my therapist, and Mrs Hudson is a nurse."

Sherlock's eyes widened. "He told me that too."

John frowned. "That you don't exist?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No, that you don't exist."

John considered that for a moment.

"But I do," he whispered.

"And so do I," Sherlock whispered back.

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock for a hug, and was surprised that the other man hugged him back.

He felt so real.

Tears began to sting John's eyes. "I don't exist," he whispered, arms still around Sherlock's neck.

"So I'm told," he murmured back.

"And you don't exist."

"That's correct," Sherlock confirmed.

"Then let's not exist together."

"Yes," Sherlock agreed. "That sounds good."

* * *

And so both of them, or neither of them if that was the case, held the other tightly and willed the world to go away.

Or maybe it was never there to begin with.


End file.
